


Sickfics and H/C (Mostly Spot)

by Firecracker_Newsie (Enjolras_The_Survivor)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rugby, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Black Eye, Foster Care, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Sickfic, Still, Surgery, Tags May Change, spot is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjolras_The_Survivor/pseuds/Firecracker_Newsie
Summary: This entire fic is literally just what my muse (who is a cat, I think!) came up with overnight.RUGBY POSITIONS GUIDEhttps://www.ruck.co.uk/rugby-positions-roles-beginners/
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. A is for Appendicitis

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is literally just what my muse (who is a cat, I think!) came up with overnight.
> 
> RUGBY POSITIONS GUIDE  
> https://www.ruck.co.uk/rugby-positions-roles-beginners/

POV: Spot

"Morning, Spot! It's time for your first game of the season!" Medda singsonged as she pulled open the curtains. I rolled over, trying to go back to bed to avoid my new responsibilities. "Medda, I'm nervous - I'm playing Captain, or Skipper, that's what Coach Bonnie calls it, for the first time." Medda made me get up anyway, saying that I said that about every new thing ever, and she wasn't going to let me miss it. Besides, she said, there were going to be oysters ("ersters", I corrected) "Guessin' we're playin' against Manhattan Monsters? The Brooklyn Beasts are gonna win!" I dismissed the waves of pain in my side as just nerves, I mean, it's the first game of the season, and I have to play against my boyfriend, and I don't want to hurt our relationship, God, my thoughts are racing. I force down a piece of buttered toast (Hey, I don't like jam, alright!) at Medda's insistence, even though I feel sick and not at all hungry.

*Time skip to after the game*  
"I know, Coach, I wasn't on form today. I didn't get the ball to open play, even from rucks we won, I'm sorry!" I pre-emptively apologise for all my mistakes, wishing that my coach would just let me go home. "Chill, Spot, go see the physio, you took a few big hits, and I think you were avoiding contact a bit too much. Everything alright?" Bonnie knows Medda adopted me, they're sisters. It's how I got into rugby- I wince as the pain spikes again. Not nerves, did anyone hit my stomach? It has been known to happen before - I'm 5ft 4 and most of them are about 5ft 7, getting tackled can be kinda awkward. "Time to go, Skipper!" Medda calls from the minivan. I swing myself into the front seat, assuring Medda that I'm fine. "How was your game? I had to take Charlie to his physio appointment with Clyde, then Santa Fe (A/N: their family cat, Jack named him - Jack's all grown up now, but he lives in New Mexico for school, which means he can't take the cat) decided to tip all the cheerios out." Medda pauses to take a breath, so I interrupt to answer her question and assuage her worries. "It was okay, Medda, I didn't do as well as I wanted but I took a few big hits comin' outta the scrum - Bonnie says we should see the physio, coz apparently I was avoiding contact more than normal." I pass the message on, because Bonnie will phone tonight and check - it's kind of annoying when your adoptive aunt is also your coach. Medda immediately changes course and heads straight for Brookdale Hospital, where Clyde works.

As the minivan bumps over the cobbles, I try to keep my mind off the pain in my side, and on Medda's aimless chatter about Charlie's check-up. _"Charlie's doing really well, he's kept his muscle tone in his bad leg, and he's walking more on it than his crutch and_ I don't hear the rest of the sentence, trying not to vomit over the seats. _"Spot? Were you listening?"_ I have no clue what Medda was saying so I mumble something, which somehow means I skip the queue.

Clyde takes one look at me and says "I don't think it's rugby, Spot. How have you been feeling?" I know it's pointless to keep denying the pain and nausea. "Nauseous, especially at the mention of food. Pain, like about here (I point to my lower right hand side). Uhh, haven't felt like eating either." Clyde speaks with Medda urgently, but in hushed tones. I'm not allowed to be in charge of my medical treatment, I'm too young and apparently, too irresponsible (I once managed to hide a broken arm for a week!). Medda comes over to me to explain. "Spot, you have appendicitis, which means you need surgery. I know you don't like the idea, but it's the best chance you have." Medda's right, I hate the feeling of being out of control, of waking up and having a gap in your memory, of the numbness in your hand, but pain in the operation site. I don't get a choice, but I make one stipulation. "None of that numbing cream for the cannula, okay?" Luckily, Clyde gets me, and allows me that one piece of dignity before forcing me to change into a hospital gown. It has THE SIMPSONS on it, and it's still too big. I rant all the way to the OR anteroom about the indignity of them not having any plain pediatric gowns. Mid-rant, I feel a sharp prick and some pressure in my hand, followed by a cooling sensation, then I'm asleep.

*Skip to after the operation*

Medda is murmuring something as I return to the real world. "Was that it?" I ask, slightly out of it from the anaesthetic. I don't know how long the operation took. "Yes," Medda chuckles slightly "that hour was 'it'." My thoughts drift and I mutter something unintelligible even to me. One of the doctors bustles in and gives me some medicine through the cannula in my hand. "What are you doing?" I demand, I need to know what's happening. They reassure me it's just some travel sickness medicine for when I go home. That sounds promising. Honestly, I just want to get the hell out of here. Whoops, I said that aloud, judging by Clyde's raised eyebrow. "You swear too, Clyde!" I remind him and he shoots back "not in front of my mother!". We're back to mental normal now, I think as I try to push myself up. Clyde runs over to me, and moves me carefully into a sitting position, because I can't be trusted to do even the most basic of tasks yet. "When can I go home?" I ask, I need to see Charlie again. He's the only sibling who knows my backstory, and I'm not telling anybody how he managed to get me to open up. They don't answer that with anything concrete, just vague 'reassurances' of "soon, maybe tomorrow" and "it depends". In total, I spend two nights at the hospital, because I arrived at 4.50pm so my op happened in the evening and my sleep schedule went a little off-whack. 

When they release me, I'm already fed up of hospital food and the rules I have to follow. I phone Bonnie on the drive home. "Hi, Auntie Coach Bonnie." I address her using her full title, in order that she understands the seriosity of the phone call. _"Hi, Spot. How are you?"_ "That's why I'm calling, I don't know if Medda told you, but I had appendicitis, I've had my operation, but I can't play for 6-8 weeks, depending on my recovery. I'm still coming to all the games though" _"Medda said you were sick, but she'd let you tell me as much or as little as you wanted. You focus on recovering, and we'll help you get back as and when you and your doctor are ready"_ We exchange brief goodbyes and I hang up. Medda really is the best mom.


	2. B is for Black Eye

POV Smalls  
The Delanceys always pick on me. I mean, I'm so short that even Spot seems tall, but I try to own it. I call myself "Smalls". Here they come. Do I run or let it be? Oh, too late. They've seen me writing in my journal. Hopefully, I'll get away with only a few scrapes, and my social worker won't be too annoyed. "Hey, Smalls, whatcha doing?" One of them growls. They'll soak me if I ignore them or if I say anything. "Just soak me, and we can both go about our days." My mouth operates of its own accord. I stand up, as if to leave. Oscar punches my gut, sending me tumbling to the floor. Morris pins me by my shoulders, allowing his brother to kick and punch me. I zone out, waiting for them to get bored. It always happens, eventually. The last blow brings me back to the real world as a burning sensation radiates through my eye, followed by pattering away from me. They're gone.

When I get back to the group home, Hannah takes me to my room, handing me an ice-pack as she shouts. H: "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO FIGHT ANYMORE!" I had to lie to her, I wasn't about to let anybody know that I'm only faking being alright. I haven't unpacked my bags yet, I'm always being moved around. Is it too much to ask to stay in one place longer than a week? I'm right not to unpack my stuff. Hannah puts me in my booster seat in her car and takes me to an emergency placement with someone called Medda Some-kind-of-bird. I wasn't listening, she won't want me for very long anyway. Medda fusses over me, but doesn't make any comments about my height, which I'm glad about. She shows me to a guest room (she says it's mine as long as I need it, but I can't get attached).

Hannah finally leaves a few hours later, and my new foster siblings start returning from various practices. Spot barges in to my room, not bothering to knock. I'm shocked, I didn't know my real brother was here. Maybe I can cope with this placement. He's taken aback too. Spot: "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. How are you, it's been ages, your eye looks awful, still fighting the Delanceys?" he babbles. I reassure him I'm fine, my eye looks worse than it is and yes, the Delanceys were still annoying me but I've moved school districts again so I'll be starting anew. His cellphone buzzes and he leaves, taking a call with somebody he calls "Cowboy" and "Jack" alternately.


	3. C is for Chickenpox

POV Medda  
"Momma, I don't feel so good." Finch called from upstairs. I immediately rushed upstairs to check him over, putting a thermometer in his ear. "Honey, you're staying home today. It's 101. What other symptoms are you showing?" I gave him a dose of paracetamol, which he took gratefully. Finch has been with me longer than he remembers, and is one of the few kids that calls me his parent. "There's these weird spots on my body" Finch removes his shirt, confirming my suspicions. I go downstairs and call the school to tell them that Finch won't be in for a week, and could they send some work for him? before returning. "Finch, you've got chickenpox. No school or clubs for a week" He just accepts his lot and goes back to sleep. When Charlie gets back from school, I ask him to isolate for a few days, just in case. He's slightly annoyed to be reminded of his disability, but he agrees, not wanting to get sick.

Just as Finch is getting better, Spot asks if I can turn the heating down. I haven't turned the heating on, it's only October and somehow Spot's in shorts and topless. I wait for him to fall asleep and take his temperature. It's 102, so I call the school again (bless them, they're really understanding). When Spot wakes up, he's scratching his body hard, so I duct tape his hands into mittens and give him an oatmeal bath to help relieve the itching. Jack insists on coming home over the half term break, even though it's a 2-day drive, but I don't mind because he manages to distract Spot while I dissolve a paracetamol tablet in his squash. Spot is the most stubborn child ever to come into my family. By the end of the break, he's fully recovered, thankfully, if a bit annoyed at missing Halloween.


End file.
